The next arrival was old Joe Burn, Wot does the fits to Natur chuff-- And Fogg, And Fogg, wot's blind each day in Ho'born, Saw'd his way there clear enough, Mr. Sinniwating Sparrow, In corduroys span new and nice, Druv up in his pine-apple barrow, Which he used to sell a win a slice. [6] Tol, lol lol, etc. VI The ball was open'd by fat Mary, Togg'd out in book muslin pure, [7] And Saucy Sam, surnamed 'The Lary,' Who did the '_Minuit-on-a-squre.'_ While Spifflicating Charley Coker, And Jane of the Hatchet-face divine, Just did the Rowdydowdy Poker, And out of Greasy took the shine. [8] Tol, lol lol, etc. VII The Sillywarious next was done in Tip-top style just as it should, By Muster and Missus Mudfog, stunning, Whose hair curled like a bunch of wood. The folks grinn'd all about their faces, 'Cos Mudfog--prince of flashy bucks-- Had on a pair of pillow Cases, Transmogrified slap into ducks! Tol, lol lol, etc. VIII The celebrated Pass de Sandwich To join in no one could refuse-- Six bushels on 'em came in, and wich Wanish'd in about two two's. The Gatter Waltz next followed arter-- [9] They lapp'd it down, right manful-ly, [10] Until Joe Guffin and his darter, Was in a state of Fourpen-ny! Tol, lol lol, etc. IX Next came the Pass de Fascination Betwixt Peg Price and Dumby Dick-- But Peg had sich a corporation, He dropp'd her like a red hot brick. The company was so enraptur'd, They _buckets_ of vall flowers threw-- But one chap flung a bunch of turnips, Which nearly split Dick's nut in two. Tol, lol lol, etc. X The dose now set to gallopading, And stamp'd with all their might and main-- They thump'd the floor so precious hard-in, It split the ancient crib in twain, [11] Some pitch'd in the road, bent double-- Some was smash'd with bricks--done brown-- So the cadgers saved 'The Crown' the trouble Of sending coves to pull it down. Tol, lol lol, etc. [1: nothing] [2: merrily] [3: walking] [4: lodging-house] [5: sweetheart; wife] [6: penny] [7: dressed] [8: Grisi?] [9: beer] [10: drunk] [11: house] "DEAR BILL, THIS STONE-JUG" [Notes] [1857] [From _Punch_, 31 Jan., p. 49. Being an Epistle from Toby Cracksman, in Newgate, to Bill Sykes]. I Dear Bill, this stone-jug at which flats dare to rail, [1] (From which till the next Central sittings I hail), Is still the same snug, free-and-easy old hole, Where Macheath met his blowens, and Wild floor'd his bowl [2] In a ward with one's pals, not locked up in a cell, [3] To an old hand like me it's a family hotel. [4] II In the dayrooms the cuffins we queers at our ease, [5] And at Darkmans we run the rig just as we please, [6] There's your peck and your lush, hot and reg'lar each day. [7] All the same if you work, all the same if you play But the lark's when a goney up with us they shut [8] As ain't up to our lurks, our flash patter, and smut; [9] III